A Perfect Amish Match

Chapter Two

Sunday morning dawned cloudy but warm. It seemed to Olivia Mae that Daddi’s moods reflected the changing weather. As a farmer, rain had always been a good thing—a sign of God’s blessing. Daddi sat at the kitchen table, a smile on his face, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth as if they were the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“Maybe I’ll have a chance to meet that nice young man who visited the other day.” Mammi refilled their coffee mugs and sat down across from Olivia Mae.

“Nice young man?”

“You know very well who I mean.”

“We have a new postman.”

“Nein. Young Amish man.”

“Our neighbors dropped by with their new baby.”

“Olivia Mae, you know gut and well who I mean, though you’ve avoided talking about him all week.” Mammi pointed a fork at Olivia Mae as if in warning, but there was a smile on her face.

“Hmmm. Oh, you mean Noah Graber?”

“Indeed. He seemed like a fine young man.”

“How could you tell? You didn’t meet him.”

“Because you didn’t invite him in.”

“He was just returning something he’d found. There was no need to invite him in, plus I think he was in a hurry.”

“Well, he won’t be in a hurry today, and I have a mind to speak with him.”

“Oh, please don’t do that.” Olivia Mae fumbled around for a reason. In truth she simply didn’t want her grandmother to attempt setting up a date for her again. The last one had been a disaster. The man had been nearly fifty. She certainly didn’t get her matchmaking skills from her grandmother. Thank goodness! In desperation she added, “He’s rather the shy sort. I was thinking of maybe setting up something between him and Jane Bontrager.”

“Why are you always matchmaking other folks together, but no one seems to catch your interest?”

Olivia Mae wasn’t too surprised at the question. It was something Mammi tossed at her at least once a week.

“I have my hands full with you and Daddi. I have a family of my own. I don’t need another.”

“Pshaw.” Mammi plucked a hot biscuit from the basket and broke it open with trembling fingers. The steam rose, and she inhaled deeply before adding a pat of butter. “You know what the Good Book says about taking a log out of your own eye before you worry about your bruder’s.”

“My bruders are doing just fine, but danki for your concern.”

She thought her grandmother would continue to bat the topic back and forth, but instead, when she looked up, confusion clouded her features. “Elizabeth, I’ve told you before. It’s past time you marry, and I don’t think you should put it off. There are plenty of gut boys available.”

Olivia Mae closed her eyes briefly, said a quick prayer for wisdom and forced a smile. “Yes, Mammi. I’ll give that some thought.”

“And prayer. Don’t forget prayer, young lady.”

Olivia Mae hopped up to clean the dishes so they could leave for church on time. But as she washed and rinsed, she wasn’t thinking about the service, she was thinking about Mammi calling her by her mother’s name. Olivia Mae didn’t even look like her mother—she took after her father. Both of her parents had perished in an accident ten years ago and she missed them as sorely as if it had happened the week before.

Daddi’s dementia was a terrible thing to watch, but it was Mammi’s slips into the past that frightened her more. She couldn’t possibly care for her grandfather and grandmother by herself, not to mention that the house was starting to show signs of neglect. She would ask for help if she needed it. Of course she would, but she knew what her bruders’ answer would be—they had wanted to move Mammi and Daddi to Maine years ago.

She couldn’t imagine taking them away from what was familiar. As far as the house, she could ask the bishop for help and a work crew would be there the following week, but she hesitated to do that, too. Her church family had already done so much to help when Daddi was in the hospital last month. She knew they didn’t mind, but she didn’t want to be the type of person who only asked for help but never gave.

So she bought old sweaters at garage sales, unraveled and washed the yarn and used it for her knitting. She was able to scatter the shawls and sweaters and blankets throughout their community. That and matchmaking were the only ways she knew to give back.

And she prayed, but not for a beau. That would only complicate things. Who would want to take on a twenty-seven-year-old wife, a small farm, a dwindling herd of sheep that she thought of as pets, and tottering grandparents? It seemed too much to ask, in her opinion. Best that she keep her problems to herself and bury her own dreams. Sometimes life called on you to sacrifice.

Mammi and Daddi were definitely worth sacrificing for.

* * *

Olivia Mae didn’t involve herself in someone else’s life unless they asked. But during their church service Sunday morning, she couldn’t help watching Noah Graber and Jane Bontrager. They sat as far from each other as possible. Noah was on the men’s side of the aisle, closer to the front. Jane was near the back, helping with her nieces. Noah didn’t seem aware of Jane at all, which wasn’t unusual in Olivia Mae’s experience. It was one of the reasons that older men remained bachelors. They weren’t even looking for love.

What was it that Noah had said?

I’m single—happily single.

He wouldn’t be the first man to think so.

Their opening hymn had ended and the ministers had filed into the barn. The doors were open wide, allowing in the fresh spring air, but rain threatened so they’d opted to have the church service under cover. Now they all stood for the Oblied, and for a moment Olivia Mae forgot about Noah and Jane and even her grandparents. She allowed the words of the praise song to flow over her, to rise from her heart. She felt, in those few moments, transported to a place without difficult days and hard decisions. She felt like the young girl who had written the letters to herself, the letters that were in the box Noah had brought to her.

She’d tried to read them. The evening he’d given her the box, she’d waited until she’d settled down for the night and then she’d once again unfolded the top sheet. She’d instantly been transported back to the summer of her seventeenth year, when her dreams were still fresh and hopeful. Each sheet contained a letter to herself that she’d penned quite seriously over the course of the summer. Where had she come up with that idea?

But the words she’d written seemed to come from a different person. The naiveté of her thoughts and hopes and dreams was too painful.

So she’d folded the letter back up, and had gently placed the box on top of her dresser, then flung her kapp over it so she wouldn’t have to stare at it.

She tried to focus on the sermons. The first was something about Joshua and Moses and the lost Israelites. Standing between her grandmother and her neighbor, Olivia Mae prayed, sang, kneeled and stood. She felt as if she was going through the motions, but the ritual soothed her nonetheless. After all, Gotte was in control last week, and he was still in control.

Even though Daddi’s condition seemed to be worse...

Even though Mammi grew more unpredictable each day...

Bishop Lucas stood and startled Olivia Mae out of her daydreams. He’d been their bishop for over six months now, but still she was surprised that it wasn’t Atlee who offered their blessing over the meal, who sent them out to be the people of Gotte, as he was so fond of saying. She was sure that Lucas would make a fine bishop, though he seemed awfully young at fifty-two. The truth was that in her heart she missed Atlee. He’d been like a wise old onkel to her. He’d been someone that she could be completely honest with.

Another hymn, and then they were dismissed and she was hurrying to check on Daddi, who insisted he was fine. Several of the men told her not to worry, they would take care of her grandfather.

Mammi was already standing behind the serving line when she joined it. She reached out and touched Olivia Mae’s arm, and a flash of understanding passed between them. Being away from the farm was good, but being in public was always nerve-racking. There was just no telling what Daddi would do.

Her mammi’s look reminded her that they were among friends, among family. She could stop worrying, at least for a few hours.

So Olivia Mae made her way down the line to the table with the main dishes—cold crispy chicken, thick slices of ham, spicy links of sausage. First the elders came through, then the women with the little ones, followed closely by the men. Finally the youngies, who filled their plates high, never worrying about calories or fat content. The last group was what Olivia Mae thought of as her people—Amish men and women in their twenties, some recently married and without children, some courting and some who seemed caught in that in-between place.

Jane stepped up with Francine. The two girls were barely twenty and stuck together like peanut butter and honey, which sometimes complicated her matchmaking efforts.

“Gudemariye, Olivia Mae.” Jane smiled at her brightly—expectantly.

“And to you.”

Francine leaned forward. “We heard you were setting up a match for Noah Graber.”

“Nein. Noah’s not interested.” Olivia Mae pushed a plate of sandwiches forward, trying to buy herself some time. “I would like to talk to you, though, if you have a minute.”

“We’ll save you a place.” Their heads together and giggling, both Jane and Francine moved toward the dessert table.

She’d thought nearly everyone was through the line the first time, and was looking to make sure that Mammi had made herself a plate, when Noah stepped in front of her table.

“I heard the fried chicken is gut today.”

“Did you, now?”

His hat was pushed back on his head, once again revealing the curly hair, and he was actually making eye contact with her. No doubt he felt safer with the table between them—she wasn’t going to jump over it and drag him toward a woman he might feel pressured to court. She couldn’t help noticing he was in a better mood, as well. Perhaps because he wasn’t on her front porch. Men like Noah relaxed on what they thought of as neutral ground. She’d have to suggest he take Jane to a restaurant in town. A family dinner would be too much pressure.

“Too bad there’s not any chicken left.”

“I gather you’d like some.”

“It’s why I’m standing here with no meat on my plate—my bruders insisted that I had to try it.”

“Smart guys, your bruders.” Olivia Mae opened the cooler under the table, pulled out her large Tupperware container and scooted it toward him. “I always make extra.”

The grin he gave her caused butterflies to twirl in her stomach. Yes, this one could be a charmer. She only needed someone who was willing to push past his disinterested facade, smooth the rough edges and convince him that he wasn’t happily single.

He thanked her for the chicken and moved toward the dessert table. Tall and handsome. There was no way she was letting Noah Graber get away from their community. His family was here. He belonged here! He probably faced a contented future with a house full of children.

No woman can be happy with fewer than seven to cook for.

The old proverb danced through her mind. She didn’t completely agree with it. After all, she was happy right now. But then, that was a different story. She didn’t abide gender stereotypes, but she did believe that men were happier with families. Hadn’t she read an article in the grocery checkout line about that very thing? Something about men living five years longer if they were married, and up to seven if they had children.

When she thought of it in those terms, she wasn’t prying her way into Noah’s life, she was looking out for his health. Isn’t that what the people of Gotte were supposed to do?

She plopped a crispy chicken leg onto her plate, added a scoop of macaroni salad and a slice of cheese and chose a chocolate brownie for dessert. She was going to need the calories if she was going to be successful today. They might rest from their daily work on Sundays, but matchmaking was a seven-day-a-week affair.

She made her way to where Jane and Francine were sitting and enjoying their meal.

“Uh-oh. She has that glint in her eye.” Francine bumped Jane’s shoulder. “And I think it’s your turn.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I had a date two weeks ago, and you haven’t had one in... I don’t know—a month.”

“Ya. I’m journaling about my good qualities, like Olivia Mae told me to.”

Olivia Mae only raised an eyebrow and bit into her chicken. It really was good. She’d learned the recipe from Mammi. The trick was to use a good sprinkling of garlic salt but not too much, and to keep the fire high enough to render the coating crispy but not burnt.

“Just tell us who it is.” Francine clasped her hands in her lap and leaned forward. “It is Noah? I bet it is. He’s the only new person I see here, and you have a definite new-person glint in your eye.”

“I didn’t know my eyes were so readable.” Olivia Mae wiped at her mouth with her napkin. “Yes, it is Noah, and I think we should give Jane the first try.”

“Because I’m taller. That’s it. Right?” Jane slumped down in her seat. “Why do I have to be so—”

“Three things.”

Jane rolled her eyes.

“I’m serious about this—you both know I am. Our first step toward progress is to defeat those negative thoughts in your mind. Now tell me three positive things about your height.”

Francine giggled, but Jane screwed up her face as if she hadn’t been presented with this question a dozen times. She had. Olivia Mae thought it was her biggest obstacle to finding a suitable man. Jane wasn’t that tall, but in her mind she was an ostrich. It didn’t help that her first few dates had been with very short men, which only served to reinforce the gangly image she had of herself.

“I can reach the top shelf in the pantry.”

“Gut.”

“I’ve stopped growing.”

“Not sure that’s a positive thing, but go on.”

“It’s something I inherited from my dat, who I adore. So it’s... I don’t know—nice to be like him in some way.”

Olivia Mae put down her fork, which was filled with macaroni salad. “I think we’ve had a breakthrough. You genuinely meant that.”

“Ya. Maybe the journaling is helping, because it occurred to me that even though I don’t enjoy being taller than most men, I love the fact that I have something in common with my dat.”

“I suspect you have a lot in common with him.”

“Back to the dating thing...” Francine was much more invested in the matchmaking process, maybe too much. Her enthusiasm tended to frighten men. It was one of the reasons that Olivia Mae thought that Jane might be a better match for someone as shy as Noah.

“I only met Noah earlier this week.”

“Tell us about him.” Francine stole a glance over her shoulder at Noah.

He was sitting three tables away with his bruders and their wives. Was he the only Graber son who wasn’t married? Olivia Mae thought he was, but she’d have to ask around to be sure. That could work in their favor, too.

“He’s nice enough. Obviously he’s easy on the eyes.”

“I’ll say.” Francine grinned.

Jane blushed, but she was listening intently.

“He’s working as an auctioneer in Shipshe.”

“Is that why he moved back?” Jane asked.

“Ya, and it’s gut that he knows what he wants to do. He won’t be distracted by that question as some men are—”

“I still can’t believe that Elijah took a job at the RV factory.” Jane shook her head in obvious disbelief. She’d thought Elijah would settle down and work for the town farrier, but it apparently wasn’t destined to be. “He told his schweschder, who told me, that working around the horses just wasn’t challenging enough. What’s not challenging about shoeing horses?”

“Let’s focus.” Olivia Mae picked up her brownie, took a bite and allowed the sugar and chocolate to work their magic. Why was it that things you weren’t supposed to eat a lot of were so delicious? “Seems to me that Noah might be self-conscious about his height.”

“How tall is he?” Jane asked.

“A little over six feet, I think. I didn’t exactly measure him when he came by the house.” She hadn’t meant to say that. One glance at Jane and Francine told her she’d have to go through the entire story of how he’d returned her box, so she did so quickly. “Anyway. He’s back in town, working at the auction house, and he says he’s happily single.”

“Uh-oh.” Jane sat up straighter, which was another improvement. She used to always slump, trying to make herself shorter.

“That’s what they all say,” Francine reminded them. “His own bruder—Justin—told you that he wasn’t interested in dating at all. That it was a waste of time! Look at him now. He’s happily married and expecting a boppli.”

“Sometimes that makes things easier, when another person in the family has been successfully matched. Other times...” Olivia Mae noticed Noah was being teased by his bruders. He glanced toward her table, shook his head, picked up his plate and walked away. “Other times it can make a man more resistant to change.”

“Why am I not encouraged by this entire talk?” Jane began to chew on her thumbnail, but tucked her hands back into her lap when she noticed Olivia Mae watching. “Sounds like he’s not interested at all. What’s your plan?”

“My plan is to convince him that it’s his idea.”

Chapter Three

Noah made a point of avoiding Olivia Mae after lunch. His brothers had had a hearty laugh over the fact that he’d thought she was married. How was he to know? What kind of matchmaker couldn’t find herself a husband? It would be like owning a buggy shop but no buggy. Regardless, he thought it best to avoid her.

It wasn’t so terribly hard.

He played baseball. She sat with the women under the hickory tree.

He had more dessert. She seemed to be avoiding the snack table.

He saw her take two young girls into the sheep pen, then coax one of the new lambs over and show them how to pet the babes so that the mother wouldn’t be frightened. He’d almost walked over to her then, just casually, to tease her about being a shepherdess. He’d even remembered a sheep joke that he thought would make her laugh.

But she’d said something to the girls, and they’d hurried out of the pen and toward her grandfather. At least Noah supposed the old guy who was gesticulating wildly was her daddi. Olivia Mae and an older woman—her grandmother?—had helped him into the house, and then he hadn’t seen her again for a while. He’d almost put the idea behind him—of having a talk with her and setting her straight—when he literally bumped into her coming out of the barn and carrying a large ice cooler.

She juggled the ice cooler, and he plucked it from her hands.

“Leaving so soon?”

“Ya, Daddi’s tired.”

“I can carry this for you.”

She cocked her head and stared up at him.

He squirmed under her inspection. Why did she make him feel like his hat was on backward? “Since I almost ran you over, seems like the right thing to do.”

“All right. Danki.”

They talked about the weather as long as anyone possibly could and then fell into an awkward silence. Her buggy would be the last one in the line. Why had he offered to carry the cooler? It was obviously empty and weighed practically nothing. Fishing around for something to say, he remembered her standing in the sheep pen.

“Where do sheep go on vacation?”

“What?”

“Where do sheep go on vacation?”

“I’m sure I have no idea.”

“The Ba-a-aa-hamas.”

The look on her face was funnier than the joke.

“Do you do that very often?”

“Do what very often?”

“Tell jokes when you’re nervous.”

“Who said I was nervous?”

“It’s sort of obvious.”

They’d reached her buggy. She opened the driver’s-side door, fished around inside and pulled out three bungee cords. He strapped the cooler to the back of the buggy, as he tried to think how best to answer her question.

“I’m not nervous exactly. It’s only that I wanted to say something to you, and I wasn’t sure how to bring up the subject.”

“Oh. All right. I’m all ears.”

“I’m afraid we started off on the wrong foot.”

“How so?”

He knew she knew what he was talking about, but obviously, she wasn’t going to make this easier for him. He leaned against her buggy and crossed his arms. “I didn’t mean to dismiss what you do. Obviously you provide an important service to our community.”

“You mean my knitting?”

“Nein. I do not mean your knitting. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Now she smiled at him—a perky got-you smile that had him shaking his head. Was that why she wasn’t married? Because she was feisty, with an attitude and a sense of humor? Perhaps she had the idea that she didn’t fit into the submissive Amish-woman mold, though his own mother was the same in many ways. Regardless, the fact that Olivia Mae was not married was not his business.

“I’m talking about your matchmaking.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that.”

“You’ve decided it’s an important service?”

“It could be. I see that now.”

“Englischers have dating sites and apps on their phones,” she pointed out.

“I wouldn’t know about that.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.”

“I’ve never even owned a phone.”

“Neither have I.” She was grinning at him now.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think that she enjoyed baiting him. He forced his eyes away from her adorable face and tried to remember what he’d wanted to tell her.

“Your bruder seems happy enough.”

“He does. He is, and that’s what I mean. You obviously do what you do very well.”

“Danki.”

“I just wanted to remind you that I’m not on the market.”

“Oh, you made that quite clear.”

Was she being serious? Or playing with him again? Looking back toward the barn, he saw that more people were leaving. He couldn’t keep her here forever. He needed to try a more direct approach.

“I saw you talking to the two girls—the tall one and the heavy one.”

“Do you mean Jane and Francine?”

“I guess.”

“They’re freinden of mine. We often talk to each other.”

“I’m sure, but as soon as you sat down, and you three put your heads together, the heavier one looked over her shoulder at me.”

“Did she, now?”

“You’re going to deny it?”

“Deny what?”

“That you were talking to them about setting up a date with me.”

“I could set you up with one of them.” She tapped her chin and scrunched up her eyes as if she’d never considered such a thing. “But I thought you weren’t interested.”

Noah laughed out loud. “You are twisting what I’m saying every which way. I’m not interested. I told you I wasn’t on Wednesday, and I’m still not. I wanted to make sure we’re clear about that.”

“Crystal.”

“Gut.”

“Gut.”

Another awkward silence followed. She’d caved easier than he’d thought she would. He’d expected her to list the reasons that either girl would be a good match for him. Didn’t she think he was dating material? Did she think he was too old or too set in his ways?

He didn’t want to talk about that, but he wasn’t ready to walk away, either.

“What do you call a sheep that knows karate?”

Olivia Mae rolled her eyes, but a grin was spreading across her face.

“I don’t know, Noah. What do you call a sheep that knows karate?”

“A lamb chop.”

He walked away then, the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears.

* * *

Unfortunately his good mood didn’t last. His father insisted Noah ride up front in the buggy with him on the way home. His mother sat in the back, surrounded by grandchildren. For the first ten minutes, Noah actually enjoyed the ride. Then his dat cleared his throat and glanced his direction.

“You know we’re glad you’re home, son.”

“But...”

“No but. Your mother and I want you to know that we are grateful to the Lord for bringing you back.”

Perhaps he’d misjudged his dat’s intent. Maybe he’d anticipated a lecture when there wasn’t one headed his way. Noah rested his head against the door and looked out over the Indiana farmland. “I’m glad to be back. Goshen seems...better in some ways. Instead of it feeling like a shoe that’s too small, it feels like one that fits just right.”

“That’s gut, but...”

Noah tried to suppress a sigh, without success.

“Just hear me out.”

“Of course, Dat.” It wasn’t as if he had a choice. They were still ten minutes from home. It would be childish to ask to be let out and walk, though the thought did cross his mind. Instead he sat up straighter and clasped his hands in front of him.

“I know you enjoy your auction work...”

“It’s why I’m here.”

“However, I’d like you to leave some time free to learn more about the farm.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you never learned it as a youngie.”

“I grew up doing farm chores.”

“That’s true, but a young man’s real training begins about the time that you left—was it when you went to New York or Pennsylvania?” He waved away the question before Noah could answer it. “I want to teach you about farming because every young man needs to know how to plant, grow and harvest a crop.”

“Dat, I’m not a farmer. I never have been a farmer, and I have no intention of becoming one in the future. I’m an auctioneer.”

That statement sat between them as the mare clip-clopped down the road.

Noah could just make out his mamm saying something to his nieces, but he couldn’t discern her exact words. At least she was preoccupied so that it wasn’t two against one, not at this point.

“I appreciate your offer. I do. But times have changed—”

“Every man has to eat and farming is what we do. It’s the Amish way.”

“Not every Amish man farms. Some are farriers. Others are cabinetmakers.”

“And you’re an auctioneer.”

“A gut one, too, if I say so myself.”

“It’s only that—to me—auctioneering seems like a hobby, not a way to support yourself.”

Noah slouched down in his seat. He honestly didn’t know how to make his dat understand. He didn’t know how to explain that there were more opportunities available to Amish folk now. Working in the auction house could provide a good, steady income. It was only that it was different from work that his father’s generation had done.

“There’s one other thing.”

“Of course there is.”

“We understand it may seem awkward to date because you’re late getting started.”

“I dated...”

“And sometimes these things need a little help.”

“I thought you were happy to have me at home. Now you’re trying to scoot me out of the nest?”

“You’re twenty-nine, son.”

“I’m aware.”

Noah glanced at his dat, noticed a furrow of lines between his eyes. He was obviously bound and determined to have his say.

“It’s easy at your age to believe that you have an endless number of days in front of you—to plan, to decide, to marry. But that’s not true. Every man and woman has a limited amount of time on this earth, and it’s our responsibility to put those days to the best use.”

“What does this have to do with dating?”

“I’d hate to see you waste the best years of your life.”

“Waste them?”

“A family is a wunderbaar blessing.”

“For most, yes, it is.”

“Your bruder Justin needed a little help, and your mamm and I just want you to know that we see no shame in that.”

“Now you’re talking about Olivia Mae.”

“She’s a gut woman, and she has a real knack for putting the right people together. I was skeptical at first, too, but seeing the couples she’s matched... Well, it’s a real gift that she has.”

Fortunately their farm had come into view.

Noah’s shoulder muscles felt like two giant knots, and a headache was pounding at his temples. How could a twenty-minute ride with his parents make him so tense?

At least he was able to keep his mouth shut for the remainder of the ride. No use telling his father that he had no intention of being matched. No use pointing out the obvious—that his dating life wasn’t anyone’s business.

At least his mother hadn’t chimed in with her two cents. The last thing he needed was more pressure.

They pulled to a stop in front of the house, the lecture delivered. The evening’s chores still waited to be done—even on a Sunday. Horses still had to be fed, cows milked, goats checked. He actually looked forward to the escape of farm work, though it was not what he planned on doing for the rest of his life.

As he was helping the children out of the back seat, his mother stopped beside him, reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Give it some thought, dear.”

He stared after her as she climbed the front porch steps, a grandchild holding on to each hand.

Life was so simple for their generation, with everything laid out in black and white. But Noah had traveled enough to learn two very important things.

He was not, nor would he ever be, a farmer.

And given his dating history, which they knew nothing about, he also wasn’t the marrying type.

The only problem would be convincing his family of that.

* * *

It took longer than Olivia Mae thought it would. Exactly ten days later, a familiar buggy pulled down their lane. She was out with the sheep, so instead of hurrying toward the house, she waved her arms over her head, hoping that Noah Graber had come to see her and not her grandparents. He turned the pretty sorrel buggy mare toward her, and pulled up next to the pasture fence. He hopped out and joined her, though she was standing on one side of the fence and he was on the other.

“Where are the rest?”

“Rest of what?”

“Rest of your sheep.”

“Oh. This is all we have.”